


'basically im going to hell' POINTLESS ANGST

by frigginadorable



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, idk y i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:57:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7654621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frigginadorable/pseuds/frigginadorable
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>this started out as a big idea and i just never finished writing it, as per usual</p>
            </blockquote>





	'basically im going to hell' POINTLESS ANGST

“Howdy sir, what can I do ya for?” Dean’s eyes lifted from the phone in his hand and to the waitress hovering over him. He smiled fondly and ordered himself a beer and a big ‘ol slice of apple pie, watching her disappear behind swinging doors before looking back down at his cell. 

There were no messages, no missed calls, _nothing_ — why wasn’t Dad trying to contact him? It’d been over a week since his father dumped him here for a hunt, which was well and done. He’d put down a couple of vengeful spirits in record time with a day or two to spare. A three day vacation was great, but he wanted to get back on the road— he couldn't go anywhere without Dad. 

He was tethered to the old man, knew it and didn’t fight it, it’d always been that way. Dean didn’t do much without his father knowing, that’s just how it went. The story was different with Sam, his little brother got away with a lot of shit but he also kept up his act which helped him get by. The both of them coped pretty well with the given circumstances or at least _Dean_ thought they did. Then again, if they had dealt with it in a proper manner, maybe he wouldn't be borderline alcoholic and Sammy wouldn't have dumped (his and Dad’s) sad ass for a college hundreds of miles away. 

So maybe they weren’t perfect, but they were family nonetheless, that’s all that really mattered to Dean. He didn’t know what was in store for the distanced relationship with Sam, and no doubt he ached for him, but he couldn't bring himself to tear his brother away from whatever happiness he’s found at Stanford. Yeah, he really missed his punk-ass little brother, longed for the familiar touch, but Sam was off working for the life he deserved.

Suddenly, he’s pulled away from his thoughts by the aroma of freshly baked pie, Dean’s nearly drooling when the waitress places it in front of him. “Thanks.” He grins, not paying attention to her long enough to know if she smiled back. Dean devours the pastry in a matter of minutes, the warm apple filling settling in his stomach, making him feel full and content. He figures he might as well give Dad another day or two, maybe send some smoke signals in the meantime

 

//

 

Thanks to his father’s excessive alcohol consumption when he was younger, the idea of getting shit-faced turned him off completely. But sometimes you just **gotta** let loose and throw your good morals to the side for a while— finals had drained him and goddammit, _he deserved this_. 

“Look who finally decided to show.” Chase raised his glass to the new arrival, Sam felt obligated to flash the group a tight lipped smile. “Join us for a round of shots, Sammy-boy.” 

“It’s Sam.” He snapped, but it was playful, he’d never intentionally be rude to his boyfriend. Chase fluttered his eyelashes in an endearing way, pouting his lip and Sam had to walk over and press a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

“That’s my boy, now, relax and drink until I have to carry you home. I’ll be your designated crutch for the night, but only ‘cuz I love ya _so_ much.” The blonde hummed after getting what he wanted and then shoved a small shot glass into his hands. With minimal hesitation, Sam lifted the glass and downed it, tossing his head back. 

All the other guys at the table had branched off into their own separate conversations by now, Sam preferred it that way. By the fourth shot, his head was pounding and the ground swayed beneath his feet, it’d been a while since he had anything other than beer. Soon enough, Chase decided that his boyfriend was sufficiently wasted and cut him off, Sam whined like a child but didn’t resist when he was dragged out of the bar.

The walk back to the apartment was a blur, Sam didn’t even remember climbing up the steps to the room but somehow they got there. As soon as they were inside, Chase retreated to their room for a minute, leaving Sam to sit on the couch. He hummed to himself, some song he heard in the bar and waited for his boyfriend to drag him to bed. 

Unfortunately, that never happened. Chase did come back, he stood right in front of Sam and if he hadn’t been as drunk as he was, he would’ve picked up on the immediate difference. Suddenly, there were hands on him, but not those that were preparing to lift and drag him to the bedroom. No, there was a firm hand on his chest as the other worked at getting his pants open. Sam made a confused noise, tilting his head and watching his lovers face with drunken curiosity. 

“Ch-Chase,” He hiccups. “what’re you _dooooing_?” Sam slurred, arms limp at his sides as the other managed to yank his jeans down. Soon, he was bare from the waist down and maneuvered so his ass was high in the air. Too inebriated to hold a coherent thought, there was no fight when he heard the tell-tale sound of pants dropping behind him. Sam’s face was shoved into the couch cushion as hands roughly grabbed his ass.

“May this be a lesson for the both of us, Sam. Be good and heed my advice, you’ll be ready for him by the time I’m done with you.” Chase said, voice suddenly not so slurred and somehow authoritative? Sam blinked once and without warning, his ass was _filled_. He cried out in pain, hands blindly grabbing for some kind of anchor. 

“Stay still, Samuel.” There was a rough tug at his hair and he stilled, not knowing any better at the moment. After a few seconds, Chase began to move, working in and out of him at a harsh and unforgiving pace. Without any form of lubricant, it was painful, there was no question as to the damage that was being done. 

Sam, unfortunately, wasn’t fully aware of any of this. The pain sobered him— the feeling of things tearing inside of him processed and his eyes widened with fear. His hands trembled as his body was rocked back and forth with a wickedness he hadn’t known his boyfriend was capable of.

 

// 

 

Dean almost didn’t pick up the phone, he was tempted to snap it in half. The name that showed up on the small screen made him bite the inside of his cheek, his mouth tasted metallic. 

_Incoming Call:_ **_Sam_ **

Ignoring his better judgement, he flipped open the goddamn phone, “This better be important, I’m in the middle of a case.” Dean hissed into the phone, the venom in his voice wasn't really for Sam, no he was pissed for an entirely different reason. However, Sam so conveniently decided to call at this very moment and he was going to have to deal with this.

But when all he heard was a muffled sob— or at least that’s what he assumed it was, Dean’s expression softened and he rushed to console his brother. “Hey, Sammy, what’s wrong. Sammy, you there? Talk to me, dude.” The phone was no longer a good three inches away and was now pressed firmly against his ear as he strained to listen for clues. 

“I-I’m sorry D-Dean.” Sam was all choked up, but there was an unmistakeable slur to his voice. Was he drunk? No, Sammy didn’t even touch alcohol, it couldn’t be that. But then he heard the unmistakeable sound of shattering glass and a hiccup from his brother and he didn’t question it. 

“Sorry for what, Sammy? Where are you?” He already had his jacket on and was searching for the keys, thankfully his bag was still packed. There was no answer for a minute, maybe Sam had put the phone down to deal with whatever had broken. Fuck, Dean hopes he doesn't accidentally cut himself with the glass.

Soon he heard more noises, indicating that Sam was relocating or just tossing the phone somewhere else. Then he heard his brothers voice again and he was able to get back to getting the hell out of this motel room and on the road. “Where are you, Sammy, please answer me.” His tone was desperate now as he reached for the ignition and blindly felt around with the keys. 

“‘m still at school, i-in my apartment.” Sam finally responded and Dean let out a breath of relief, he was roughly three hours away but he’d be there as soon as he possibly could. “Miss you Dean.” His brothers voice was still thick and even a little hoarse from either crying or the alcohol, probably both.

“I miss you too, Sammy. Keep talking to me, alright? I’m on my way.” He wasn’t about to let his brother hang up and deal with the anxiety of not knowing what Sam was doing. Dean knew he’s supposed to be mad and shouldn’t have gone so easy on his brother but fuck, his instincts overpowered his feelings and there he was, rushing to Sam’s side.

 

// 

 

There was glass everywhere, Sam felt another strong wave of nausea hit him but he fought it off, pressing a bloody hand to his forehead. _Shit_ , he was such a mess. Dean was on the way which should be reassuring but the guilt was almost too much. Why did he call him? It wasn’t Dean’s problem, _he_ wasn’t Dean’s problem.

It was too late now, though, his brother would be there soon. Sam groaned as he struggled to stay upright with both hands in use. One hand held the phone to his ear as he listened to the rumble of the impala and the sound of his brother’s voice. The other held a firm pressure to his temple which seemed to fight off the splitting headache he was currently suffering through. 

“Stay with me Sammy, c’mon, everything’s gonna be okay.” It was mindless babble which Sam found himself slightly annoyed with but he couldn’t blame Dean for trying. He hadn’t offered an explanation yet and his brother was working with whatever he got and was doing a damn good job at that. But he didn’t know, he didn’t _know_. Sam’s entire body shuddered as a breeze chilled him, who the fuck left the window open? 

“I’m sorry Dean, I-I’m so sorry.” He mumbled into the phone before hiccuping once, twice and then broke out into another fit of sobs. Sam was so fucking weak, how could he let this happen? It’d been six months since the incident occurred and he had healed, yeah, there were scars but, _he had healed_. Removing the somewhat soothing pressure from his forehead, he used the back of his hand to wipe his nose and mouth.

“It’s alright, Sammy, you’re alright. Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise. You’re fine, _everything’s fine_.” His brother’s voice was desperate now, Sam’s heart clenched painfully and he cried even harder. “I’m almost there, baby brother. Just a few more minutes. Talk to me, Sammy.” He wanted to respond, he really did, but words were not an option as his shirt was being soaked by tears. Sam snorted and sniffled, trying to fill his lungs with whatever air he could in between sobs. His chest rose and fell in erratic, shaky movements, as if his body was just as unsure as his mind was. There was a lull in the phone, the sound of the impala’s engine cutting and the oh-so-familiar squeal of the car door swinging open. 

“I’m coming up, Sammy. Is the door open?” Dean asked, sounding breathless, he must’ve been running up the stairwell to get to Sam’s floor. 

“’s o-open.” He managed, breathing out to force the words from his mouth. The alcohol tainting his blood wasn’t making any of this easier, his view was distorted and fuzzy from it’s traitorous effects. Sam licked his lips and tasted blood, his face contorted into something resembling discontent and then the door flew open.

That face, oh god, _that face_. If he hadn’t already been crying, seeing Dean in front of him would’ve done the trick. The look of horror on those familiar features made Sam’s stomach churn and everything he’s been holding back for the past few hours finally came forward. His entire body jerked forward as he tried to move himself to the garbage pail.

The glass on the floor ripped holes in his jeans as he crawled over them, his palms shredded even more, blood spilled onto the floor. Somehow, he made it to the pail and nothing but bile filled the empty trash bag. Sam dry heaved for a while, grey spots filtering his vision of the white garbage bag. Only once he was done did he notice the hand rubbing circles on his back, thank god for Dean, _seriously_. 

“That’s it, Sammy, get it all out.” Dean mumbled, voice closer than it’s been in so long and jesus, Sam’s heart _ached_. He didn’t care that he was covered in blood and booze, that his hands and clothes were torn, none of that mattered now. And for the first time in a year, Sam let his guard down and passed out in his brother’s arms. 

 

// 

 

When he finally came to, he was in nothing but boxers and didn't reek of blood and whiskey. His hands were neatly and carefully bandaged, there was a glass of water and some aspirin on the bedside table. Sam groaned as he sat up, flexing his fingers as he reached for the medication, downing it and sighing softly. The bedroom was empty, there was no trace of Dean, but he didn’t think this was a drive by. 

After a moment to gather some strength, Sam swung his legs and stood shakily, wobbling over to the door and twisting the knob. “Dean?” He croaked, voice not-so-surprisingly hoarse from prior events. There was no forgetting what had happened, no matter how black-out-drunk he had been. 

“ _He lives_.” The response was heart-warming and familiar, it was simple yet pleasing in the most important way. Sam did his best to smile as he walked over to where his brother was seated on the couch. “How’re ya feelin’, Sasquatch?” All joking aside, Dean’s voice was thick with concern and worry, Sam felt a pang of guilt. 

“Better.” He shrugged and fell onto the cushion beside his brother but he wasn’t able to relax. Not on this couch, not anymore. Sam didn’t look at Dean, instead he took interest on the molding of the window across from them, studying the pattern of peeling paint. 

“We gonna talk about what happened?” The question was completely acceptable and warranted, Sam had no excuse for not answering. After calling him up like he did, Dean had every right to ask what the hell was going on. Sam just wasn’t sure what to tell him.

“It’s…” He paused and cleared his throat, eyes fixing on a different point, unable to look at his brother. “it’s been a long year.” Was all he could manage right now, it wasn’t even remotely acceptable but when Dean didn’t press for any more details, Sam sighed in relief. 

“I dunno about you, but I am _starving_. How’s a big ‘ol juicy hamburger sound? There’s gotta be a joint around here that serves some good food. What d’ya say? Feel like showin’ your big brother around town?” Dean moved on, he seemed like he was past what happened and it was too good to be true but Sam wasn’t about to question it. With a weak grin he nodded, maybe this wasn’t such a mistake. 

 

// 

 

Dean wasn’t much different from what Sam could remember. They easily fell back into their old habits and he felt more safe than he has in a long time. There was a plate piled high with fries and a burger in front of his brother and in front of him was nothing but a glass of ginger ale to help ease the nausea. 

“So, you gonna tell me why you finished an entire bottle of Jim all by yourself or are you just gonna keep that to yourself?” There had been a lull in conversation and figures Dean chose that as the time to bring it all back again. Sam knew his brother wouldn’t drop it, why should he?

“It’s a long story.” He felt guilty for this whole mess, he knew he shouldn’t have involved Dean. It wasn’t until after the fact that Sam actually thought about everything that had happened and realized he might've pulled Dean away from a case. _People could be dying because of him_. Sam was always been selfish when it came to Dean, he tried to change, he really had. 

“Lucky for you, we’ve got all day. So, why don’t you start from the beginning?” Dean leaned forward and rested his chin on his palm, looking at Sam expectantly. He fidgeted in his seat as he diverted his eyes to the sweating glass of ginger ale in front of him. There were some parts of the story that he had to leave out, to spare his brother and to save himself from shame. 

  
After he cleared his throat, the youngest sat up in the booth and wrapped a hand around his glass. “Listen, Dean, school’s just been a little tough lately. I’m almost done with my last semester and I’m in the middle of finals. Plus, my uh— my good f-friend, Chase, was killed and I-I miss him.” The last part was hard to get out, he couldn’t conceal the whole body tremble that made him put his drink down. 

“Sorry to hear about it, Sammy.” Dean seemed genuine but then again, all those years of lying and empathy was easy for them to fake. He wasn’t faking now, not with Sam, the sympathetic look in his eyes weren't betraying. “They find who killed him?” And just like that, there was a suspicious glint in his brother’s eyes, they’d been trained to investigate. 

“No, they never did. I already looked into it Dean, it was just— he was stabbed to death, mugged probably.” Naturally, Sam had done extensive research into the case out of instinct and force of habit. How could he not have? Yeah, Chase had done some things that Sam wasn’t exactly okay with but he still cared about him, still _loved_ him. 


End file.
